


blow you with a bang

by dygonilly



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Explicit Consent, Friends to Lovers, Hansol in the PTG dorms for two seconds because it brings me joy, Inkigayo Hookup Cinematic Universe, M/M, SVT and PTG enabling that gay shit, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, more emotional than it needed to be and i blame hansol and the wine references, verkwan BFFs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dygonilly/pseuds/dygonilly
Summary: Ahead of him, Hyunggu pushes into an unmarked door and Hansol pulls his phone out as though he’s following a text and not his secret-not-boyfriend, and then, when he’s sure nobody is looking, he pushes the door open and steps through.
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Kang Hyunggu | Kino
Comments: 14
Kudos: 118
Collections: The Inkigayo Bathroom Cinematic Universe





	blow you with a bang

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skateboardachoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skateboardachoo/gifts).



> for ria, for the inkigayo collection, for the people. 
> 
> title from 'bad girls' by M.I.A., hansol's self-acclaimed song of the moment. thanks buddy.

Hansol has never cared much for the taste of wine, but lately Hyunggu has been changing his mind. He’s good at that: changing Hansol’s mind. Making him try new things. It probably has little to do with Hansol’s taste in alcohol maturing past grape soju and more to do with Hyunggu chasing every second or third mouthful of Bordeaux with his mouth. 

He came over to _listen to music and hang out_ , which used to mean just that, but lately it also means this: Hyunggu catching errant drops of wine with his tongue and pushing them languidly into Hansol’s mouth, Hyunggu getting into his lap, carefully placing their almost-empty glasses on the side table, getting his fingers on Hansol’s skin under his shirt, digging in with his thumbs and biting down with his teeth. 

Hansol hisses at the feeling and Hyunggu smiles around his bottom lip. He leaves wet kisses in a trail down his throat, lips and tongue dragging along his skin. 

Hansol wonders if the wine will stain. He kind of hopes it will. Something to find in the mirror, something to wash off in the shower. Something just for them. 

It’s not a total secret, what they’ve been doing--they need enough people to know to help it happen, and since Seungkwan refuses to be left out of anything and Yuto has a habit of just walking into Hyunggu’s studio unannounced, they didn’t have much choice. It’s nothing serious. It feels good. Hyunggu is warm and beautiful and laughs easily. Hansol is always happy to be around him. So when Hyunggu kissed him, under moonlight and a sea breeze, where the only eyes on them were each other’s, Hansol melted into it. He welcomed it. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been. Time passes like molasses and bullet trains in this line of work. They go long stretches without seeing each other beyond a phone screen. That’s okay. Hansol thinks it makes these moments better. When Hyunggu presses a whine into his neck and rolls his hips against Hansol’s lower stomach, breath hot against his skin. When there’s a few seconds of silence between songs and all he can hear is his heartbeat and the catch and release of their mouths. 

He moves his hands to Hyunggu’s ass, spreads his fingers out and squeezes, reveling in the feeling of soft material and muscle, the give of it. 

“God, your hands,” Hyunggu whimpers.

Hansol lets go. “Sorry.”

“No, you idiot,” Hyunggu giggles. The next kiss hits his teeth. “That was meant to be encouraging.”

“Oh,” Hansol smiles, a little dopey from the wine. He drags his palms down the tops of Hyunggu’s thighs, almost absently, and Hyunggu’s knees twitch towards each other, blocked by the couch and Hansol’s hips. Hansol smiles wider and digs his thumbs in. Hyunggu’s breath catches, mouth dropping open enough for the light to snag on the shine left behind by Hansol’s tongue. 

“Tease,” Hyunggu pouts.

“Not doing anything.” He moves his hands up, deliberately avoiding the front of Hyunggu’s sweatpants.

“Not doing anything,” Hyunggu echoes, voice pitchy. Hansol kisses him once, twice, close mouthed and slow. Hyunggu hums when Hansol’s hands move further up, under his shirt. “Missed this,” he says softly. 

They saw each other less than a week ago, when they half-watched a movie and came into each other’s hands under the muted light of the credits, but Hansol knows what he means. So he says, “Missed you too” and kisses Hyunggu on the chin, under it, down his throat. 

He can feel his heartbeat racing against his lips, and he feels some kind of desperate, knowing that he has to leave in under an hour, that he has to spend the night in his bed alone. 

Having a room to himself has never been more of a gift now that he has… whatever he has with Hyunggu. They used to call each other late enough that the call would end with one or both of them falling asleep, conversations stretching out longer than they needed to, just to savour the feeling of having someone else on the line, as though they weren’t surrounded by people every hour of the day. But these days, when Hyunggu calls after midnight, it ends a little differently. It ends with Hyunggu sending moans along the phone-line while Hansol sends half-formed sentences towards the ceiling. He presses Hyunggu’s name into his pillow and fucks his fist like it’s something else. Someone. 

It was awkward the first time, but they’re both good at adapting. Hyunggu teaches people how to move for a living and he teaches Hansol how to have sex on the phone, with a time limit, with as little noise as possible. Hansol doesn’t get off on the risk, but he gets off on Hyunggu with heavy eyelids and a swollen mouth. 

Hyunggu pulls back for a long sip of wine and Hansol watches his throat work through it, gut clenching. 

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna have to do something about it,” Hyunggu says, swirling what remains in his glass. Hansol hums. The song skips over into a song he doesn’t recognise, and Hyunggu looks at him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I want to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

Hyunggu’s ribcage expands under his hands. “How do you feel about… public stuff?”

“Public like…”

“Like… getting off backstage. Kind of thing.” Hansol’s fingers tighten around his waist and Hyunggu’s eyes sparkle. He looked a little nervous before, but he’s smiling now. “Yeah?”

Hansol swallows thickly. “Um. Maybe.”

“Maybe is better than no.” Hyunggu drains his glass and smears the tannins all over Hansol’s mouth, hands on his jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat. “You don’t have to say yes but just… think about it. I already asked. Shua-hyung said he’d cover for us.”

“What?” Hansol yelps, cheeks flaming. “When?”

Hyunggu laughs and kisses the tip of his nose. “Few days ago.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you asked him that.” He laughs through the way Hyunggu smushes his cheeks together. 

“Shua-hyung is good at lying and getting away with it.” Hyunggu frowns. “Most of the time.”

“You’re right.”

“Mm, I know.”

Hansol kisses the smirk off his face. It quickly dissolves into laughter and flailing limbs when he starts tickling Hyunggu under his shirt. He’s relentless, only stopping when Hyunggu starts to tear up from how much he’s laughing, and then Hansol kisses the corners of his eyes, his beautiful cheeks, and the very centre of his mouth, where the laughter is the lightest. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Hansol loses track of time, too used to managers telling him when to wake up, what to wear, where to be. It’s been a whirlwind of photoshoots and sets and interviews and car rides that last too long and not long enough. Hyunggu is similarly snared in the lead up to his own comeback, but they still try to call each other when they can. 

When Pentagon gets their first win, Hansol cashes in three different favours to see him. He barrels into their dorms with arms outstretched and whisks Hyunggu off his feet to spin him in a circle, face tucked into his neck. He doesn’t even wait until they’re alone to press a lingering kiss to his cheek, and Hyunggu leans into it with shining eyes and a smile. 

Hwitaek pouts and asks if he gets a kiss, too, and Hansol freezes. “I’m… not sure if you’re joking.”

“He’s not,” Changgu assures him, but he presses a kiss to his hyung’s cheek so that Hansol doesn’t have to, and Hansol is so immeasurably happy for all of them. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Someone sits on the couch next to Hansol. He doesn’t pay much mind, so used to the lack of personal space backstage, but when one of his airpods gets tugged out he jerks his head up with a complaint on the tip of his tongue. 

“Hey,” Hyunggu says with a smile. 

Hansol beams. “Hey! You guys did so well.” He watched Pentagon perform on the television above the mirrors while he had his hair done, and Joshua and Seokmin had pretended to faint every time Hyunggu came on screen, voices high, hands fluttering. 

“As always,” Hyunggu preens, visibly fishing for compliments. Hansol withholds them for a second, just to make him pout, and then he smiles.

“I like the suit. You look…” He trails off. The red is bright, striking against his skin, and the pants pull tight around his thighs where they flare out on the couch. Hansol wills his eyes not to linger.

“You too,” Hyunggu tugs at Hansol’s lapel. “I like this concept. We match! Kind of.”

Hansol holds his purple sleeve up to Hyunggu’s tie and makes a show of frowning, delighting in the way Hyunggu giggles and leans into him. Their eyes meet on the come down and Hyunggu’s hand squeezes his knee and god, Hansol has missed him so much. 

It never used to be like this--Hansol could sit next to him for hours with his hands to himself. But now that he knows how it looks and tastes and feels to pull Hyunggu apart, it’s like his fingers are made of magnets and Hyunggu’s skin is drawing him in, in, in. 

His phone buzzes in his hand.

 **seungkwan  
** _cool it with the eye fucking_

“Oh my god.” He turns the screen so Hyunggu can read. 

Hyunggu laughs behind his hand. “He’s not wrong.”

“I’m just looking at you,” Hansol says defensively. He knows he stares. It’s not always intentional. Sometimes there just happens to be a body in the way when he’s zoned out, mind wandering beyond work and responsibilities. But sometimes, he just can’t look away. 

He opens his mouth to say something, then he unlocks his phone and types it into a note instead. He passes the phone to Hyunggu. 

_I wish we could_

Hyunggu’s eyebrows draw together before shooting up into his inky-blue bangs. 

_Now?_ He types. 

Slowly, Hansol nods. 

“When do you go up?”

“Thirty minutes.” 

Hyunggu opens his chat with Joshua, fingers flying over the keyboard. 

_Text me when they call 15._

On the other couch, Joshua reaches into his pocket and then looks over with a smirk and a salute. 

Hyunggu goes first. 

Seungkwan catches Hansol’s eye when he stands and does that thing with his mouth that says he disapproves but he’s still willing to fight to the death if someone else has an opinion about it. He makes a note to remind Seungkwan how much he values their friendship. If he makes it out of this stupid idea alive. 

They talked about it several times after that night in Hyunggu’s studio. These sorts of things require planning. As sexy and spontaneous it would be to drag Hyunggu into a bathroom by the tie, they have to factor in the idea that they’re both at work, being monitored and timed to keep to the broadcast on schedule, volleyed between rooms and stylists and managers like a beach ball. Anxious as he was about it at first, Hansol finds he’s kind of excited now, hurrying past artist rooms and bowing at the staff that pass with a smile on his face that (he hopes) gives nothing away. 

Ahead of him, Hyunggu pushes into an unmarked door and Hansol pulls his phone out as though he’s following a text and not his secret-not-boyfriend, and then, when he’s sure nobody is looking, he pushes the door open and steps through. 

Hyunggu’s mouth is on him instantly. 

Hansol returns the kiss, hands framing Hyunggu’s waist. “What if it was someone else?” he laughs.

Hyunggu shakes his head. “I’d know you anywhere.”

The words feel like a grenade between Hansol’s teeth. It’s not the time or the place to be plunging head-first into the loving he keeps clasped between his palms, but he’s always been terrible at controlling how he feels. When. How much. It must show on his face--of course it does--because Hyunggu’s face softens. 

He offers Hansol one more slow kiss, fingertips against his cheek, and then he starts undoing the buttons on his pants, smiling when Hansol chases after his mouth. “Time limit, remember?” 

“Right.” Hansol lets himself be nudged back against the door, lets Hyunggu mould their bodies together and get a spit-slick hand inside his underwear, working him to hardness. He gasps, eyes rolling back. It’s been weeks of his own hand, hurried moments in the shower and drawn out moments in his bed with Hyunggu cooing encouragements through the phone while he fingered himself. The lights in here are too harsh and it smells like disinfectant, but it feels infinitely better with Hyunggu’s body pressed close, one thigh between his, experienced fingers wrapped around him.

He doesn’t let Hansol kiss him, keeping an inch between their faces and pulling back every time Hansol leans in.

“Let me kiss you,” Hansol whines, hands squeezing Hyunggu’s waist, fingers slipping on the silk of his shirt.

“Nuh uh. We agreed.”

“On what?”

Hyunggu gets onto his knees. “You can’t go on stage with your mouth all messed up.” 

They never agreed to that and Hansol wants to push back, get a kiss, save it for later, but Hyunggu is already leaning in to take his dick into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he hiccups. Hyunggu moans around him and he scrambles for purchase on the door, the counter beside him, knees shaking. 

Hyunggu bobs his head a few times before pulling off with a pop. “Come down my throat. I want you to.” He kisses Hansol’s hipbone. “Want you to go on stage knowing what you did.” 

Hansol groans at the same moment someone walks past the door, talking loudly, and he tenses up with a hand pressed over his mouth.

“Relax,” Hyunggu coos, bringing a hand up to his stomach, blunt nails catching in the divots. “Relax.” His voice is low and soothing like it was the first time they had sex, when he guided Hansol’s fingers under his waistband, eyes on his the entire time. When he told Hansol what he wanted, sure and steady despite the nerves around his mouth. 

“Eyes on me. Concentrate on me,” he says, pumping his hand, twisting on the upstroke. He waits until Hansol nods then he sinks back down, setting a fast pace. They only have a few minutes. Then Hansol is getting on stage, performing, on camera, and nobody will know. Hyunggu will go back to his dressing room with Hansol smeared all over him--his mouth, his hands, his throat--and nobody will know.

It’s a horrible secret to keep most of the time, difficult and straining, but at this moment the idea of the secret makes Hansol feel set aflame. He can feel himself twitch in Hyunggu’s mouth, and judging by the way Hyunggu’s eyebrows quirk, so can he. He looks up through his eyelashes and moans when he meets Hansol’s eyes, shuffling forward on his knees to get closer, the hand that was on Hansol’s stomach dropping to the back of his thigh and digging in, forcing Hansol’s hips closer.

Hansol’s hand twitches against the counter, desperate for something a little more pliable, warm, soft. 

Hyunggu pulls off and kisses the tip of his dick, wet, slow, because he knows Hansol loves the visual of it. “Come on, Hansol-ah,” he says, and thank god he’s already performed. Maybe he can pass off the roughness of his voice as a result overcompensating for his mic, beg off to the service table, keep quiet for the rest of the day. As much as Hansol is dying to get on his knees and return the favour, he knows he can’t. 

He puts a desperate hand on Hyunggu’s shoulder and guides him back and forth like that, thumb digging into his collarbone, inching towards his throat. “You look so good,” he says. Hyunggu whines around his dick, brows pinching together. “Fuck, Hyunggu-yah.” He urges him to move faster, and Hyunggu takes the directive like it’s getting him just as close. He pushes down too far, too fast, and his throat closes around the tip of Hansol’s dick with a soft gagging sound. 

“Oh, I’m gonna--ah, _shit_ \--” The muscles in his legs tense up, hips jerking. Hyunggu scrunches his eyes shut and pushes himself back down. His nose hits the hair at the base of Hansol’s dick and Hansol sees stars. He comes with his thumb pressed against Hyunggu’s throat, feeling it as he swallows. It makes his eyes flutter shut, teeth clenched to hold his whines in his mouth as he fucks his hips through the aftershocks. He never thought he’d have an orgasm in a bathroom at Inkigayo, with Kang Hyunggu, no less.

Hyunggu pulls off and tucks him back into his underwear with a grin and a kiss below his belly button. Hansol’s pocket vibrates with a text.

“Perfect timing,” Hyunggu laughs, standing up. His lips are puffy and red, and Hansol hopes he can pass it off with makeup, but before anything he needs to kiss him again. So he does. Hyunggu makes a sweet, surprised noise against his mouth, tries to keep his lips pressed together, but Hansol doesn’t let him--he licks into his mouth, tasting himself, forceful enough that Hyunggu’s face tips back and his hands come up to cling to Hansol’s upper arms. His phone vibrates again, and again, and Hyunggu laughs into his mouth before pulling back.

“You gotta go,” he says mournfully.

“Ugh, I don’t want to.”

“I know.” Hyunggu steals another kiss from him. The vibrating starts again and doesn’t stop, and Hansol pulls back with a groan. 

“How do I look?” he asks, ducking in front of the mirror and fixing his shirt, the waist of his pants, the corners of his mouth. Hyunggu presses against his back, hands over his stomach, careful to keep his cheek away from Hansol’s jacket so he doesn’t leave a patch of foundation behind.

“Very handsome,” he coos, just this side of too much, like over-acting will help the compliment land easier. “Go. I’ll be watching you.”

Hansol turns in the circle of his arms and kisses his hair. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, gesturing at the front of Hyunggu’s pants, still tented from his own arousal. 

“Mm, call me when you get home,” Hyunggu says. “Now _go._ ” He pushes Hansol towards the door. Hansol lingers for one more second, just to make Hyunggu blush, and then he slips out of the bathroom and takes off at a jog back to Seventeen’s room.

He gets there just as the last of the boys are trickling out of the door, and Seungkwan whisks him into a backhug, yelling and hyping him up as though he’s just that excited to get on stage and film the same dance they’ve been performing for the past five weeks. As far as distraction techniques go, it’s enough--the managers just tell them to catch up and a harried woman in a headset waves them forwards with the rest of the group.

Seungkwan leans up to hiss in his ear. “You owe me so much.” He passes Hansol a mint and some chapstick and abrasively rubs at the skin under his bottom lip, smoothing out his hair and the shoulders of his jacket.

“How bad is it?” Hansol asks, grinning wide.

“You’re unbelievable,” Seungkwan tuts. “Both of you. You couldn’t wait like normal people? And it’s fine, you just look like you ate something spicy. If anyone asks, you were sick in the bathroom.”

“Not very dignified.”

“Neither is the truth.” Seungkwan sticks his tongue out and Hansol laughs hard enough to turn a few heads. Joshua drops to the back of the group and wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Not a word,” Hansol says in English.

“You didn’t respond to my text,” Joshua replies, smirking. “What were you doing, Vernonie?” 

“Argh, hyung,” Hansol whines, weakly pushing him away. Joshua laughs, squeaky and open, and pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks,” he says reluctantly. “For helping.”

“What are friends for?” Joshua simpers. He leans in again. “You owe Seungkwan and I dinner, by the way.”

“What? Hey! Hyung, I never agreed to--”

Joshua is already walking off to get his mic. “Love you!”

“I want Japanese,” Seungkwan says importantly, tugging the hem of his suit jacket.

Hansol sighs, defeated. “Alright.” Seungkwan makes a flower of his face and bats his eyelashes. Hansol calls him pretty out of love and duty, and then they’re being called over to get their mics on.

  
  



End file.
